


Take the World by the Throat

by FlamboyantProblematic



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Homophobia, POV Second Person, Some gruesome shit happens, also angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23355688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamboyantProblematic/pseuds/FlamboyantProblematic
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. You will never forget this.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	Take the World by the Throat

**Author's Note:**

> It's hard to love yourself in a world of hate. Harder to want to live to begin with. It's not your fault, sometimes it's easy to forget that. You didn't choose this but you choose how to go on about it. Fight for the right to be who you are. You are strong.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Just some kids rioting for god knows what reason. This was Martinaise, there was always a riot. But when you got to the scene and saw the young hooligans lying there in a pool of their own blood, struggling to grasp on to life, you felt something go off in your head like a switch.

There, standing before you, is the assailant, gun in hand, and a shit eating grin on his face. "Next time, stay in the underground, faggots." He says. And if your demons weren't loud before, then they're howling now.

You look at the wall where the kids have graffitied their thoughts in rainbow colored sprays. How they expressed their restlessness of having to be in the underground, how these days were numbered, and they'll rise with raised fists.

Rage swells up in you like a storm, uncontrollable. You can't contain yourself. If Titus gave an order, if any of the other Hardie boys have said something, if they have moved, it was all a pointless blur to you.

Your body is on autopilot. You react by charging at the man, punching him square in the face with enough force to cause him to drop his weapon, you hear the bones crack against your mighty fist. Another punch, this time to the stomach, causes him to stumble back, and a final one, an upper cut to the chin that knocks him down.

You don't give him time to gather himself. You keep him pinned to the ground with the weight of your body as you get on top of him. Your fists rain down on him like the judgment of god. He will not be forgiven. If there was a god, if heaven and hell existed, then you're sending this son of a bitch to Satan in such an unrecognizable state, that even the king of hell himself would be made to fear you.

His skin tears under your fists, and your knuckles become red and bloodied. You don't stop, not even when his face is bloated and purple from your assault.

The creature beneath you screams, his teeth stained red,a few teeth missing from his mouth now. If he's begging for mercy then you would not give it to him. He's not worthy of it. You press his head to the ground, your thumbs push against this filth's eyesockets, and you take away his eyes. He'll never see the sight of another child fighting for freedom ever again. He doesn't fucking deserve to. You feel the eyes pop under your thumbs, blood pours out of his sockets like tears, or maybe he is crying. You don't really give a fuck. You continue to push, as far in as your thumbs could go, and twist your hand, before hooking your fingers to what remains of his sockets, while the rest of your hand grips the sides of this murder's head.

The monster beneath you struggled and thrashes, but you don't stop. You slam his head against the ground until you hear a satisfying crack and see the pool of red. Even then you don't ease up. You pull your hands back and they drip with blood and gore. Now with one hand to the monster's mouth, gripping onto his lower jaw and the other to the roof of his mouth,and you pull with all your power until the bones separate and the skin tears. He'll never utter another fucking bullshit word ever again.

When you let go of his mouth, his head fell weightless to the ground. He was already dead.

You stare at the heap of beaten flesh under you and find satisfaction in having made it something inhuman. You wipe your face only to replace the sweat with blood. There's an urge within you to mutilate the rest of him but you force yourself to get off the corpse. You're not ashamed of what you've done but you still can't look the other Hardie boys in the eyes after this, so you walk past them and fall to your knees in front of the two now dead bodies of the young boys.

Eugene and Alain stand up from next to them and step back, their hands soaked in blood from trying to save them but to no avail. They don't say anything, and leave you to mourn.

The look on their young faces, the look of pain and hurt. It'll haunt you for the rest of your life. You close their eyes, and try desperately to swallow down your tears. There's a lump in your throat, and your chest is incredibly tight, but you keep it together... somehow.

Under the rivers of blood, you see an array of colors. You reach out hesitantly and grab a hold of the bloodied button. You wipe the blood off of it with your sleeve and see your fucked up reflection against the rainbow.

The button speaks to you, and tells you that the message is simple...

'Our kind is not welcomed here.'

As if Martinaise wasn't a shithole already, there were a few unlucky ones that were forced to truly live in the guts of the gutter. Those thrown out of their homes, abandoned, left to die, simply for who they are. It was either that or hide. They wore masks, and got good at pretending. You relate.

You're too much of a man to admit that you're afraid. This could have been you. You see yourself lying in a bath of your own rosie blood next to them, struggling to breathe as your lungs fill up with red.

You regret being this, despite it not being your choice. You can't help how you feel and you know it's fucked up.

You wonder if these kids regretted it as they lay dying... or did they just try to fight for something they believed in? Their love?

Was it worth it?

You look at them, both young teens, no older than 16. All color has left their skin, leaving them pale and cold.

With anguish, you pocket the button before carrying the one of the bodies. Wordlessly, Titus picks up the other. You bury them next to one another but you don't come back to bury the beast you beat to death.

You don't know how you'll sleep tonight.  
How you will ever sleep without having one eye open.

The water washes the dirt from your skin and though you watch as the blood goes down the drain, you feel it still stuck to you. No matter how hard you rub and clean, you'll never wash away the blood on your hands. You simply accept that you have to live with it now.

You are unnaturally silent when you and the rest of the Hardie boys gather back at the Whirling-In-Rags. They notice that but choose to leave you be. It's for the best perhaps. You want to focus on getting wasted so you could hopefully feel fucked enough to rest when you get back to your dark lonely room.

You don't miss the worried glances of hazel eyes under the shadows of an orange rugby hat. The concerned eyes of your best friend who takes you to the side after the night is done, and walks you far away from life where it could just be the two of you.

Gently, he disarms you with his words, and takes off your mask. You hate how weak you are against him. How easy it is for him to strip you of the image you worked so hard to create.

You don't want to hear the question that you know is coming. You don't want to answer it.

But it never comes. Instead you sit in silence, and he simply just looks up at the moon. You do the same. Your mind is a bit hazy from the alcohol but you're still in an awake state of mind to take in the sight of the glowing orb in the sky, and feel your lungs breathe the air around you. You're alive.

You feel his arm wrap around you and he pulls you closer, and you let him. Easily, you fall into his one armed embrace and melt into it, finding your comfort right there in his warmth. You rest your weary head on his shoulder, and he on top of yours.

Right then and there, you discover the oceans of words you have within you, fighting to get out. You are already bare in front of him, what is there left?

"They were just kids," you choke out and you feel him nod. "Just fuckin' dumb queer kids."

"It's fucked," his voice is soft, comforting. "But this is why we're here, Glenny. To make a change. Martinaise would of been long dead by now if we didn't stand up and fight. Now you can sit and mourn these kids, and feel shit about yourself, or you can do something about it."

"The fuck can I do? The fuck can any of us do?"

"You," he reaches in your pocket and takes the button. "Can start by bein' yourself" he hands it to you and you look at the rainbow symbol in the dim light of the moon.

You can't.

"It ain't that easy, T."

"Nothin' is easy."

"It ain't gonna change shit. You know I can't just be... this... this fucked up piece of shit thing."

He chuckles. "You brutally murdered a man today and you think this part of you is ugly?" He points at the button. "Think you got bigger problems than your dick, bud."

"I'll just end up dead... They got no mercy on kids, so imagine what they'll do to me."

"The Hardie boys have your back. You're not alone, Glenny."

It reassures you somewhat. But still...

"They know?"

Titus nods. You feel somewhat embarrassed. "They don't give a fuck what hole you like to stick your dick in, Glen. They care about you bein' a good friend to 'em. You wanna fight, they'll fight with you. Just take it one step at a time, alright?"

You sigh. You can't make any promises.

His hand comes up to the side of your face, and with the same gentleness, he cards his fingers through your long golden hair and presses his lips to your forehead. For the first time today, you smile, and you fall under the illusion that maybe... just maybe... everything will be alright after all.

"I've seen you at your worst, Glen. And your worst was shit... but I'm still here, and I'll always be here. You're my best friend, nothin' is gonna make me think any less of you," he pauses, his thumb graces your cheek with light strokes, you can't help but close your eyes and sigh in content at his touch. "Now let me see you at your best."

You wish... You wish you could. But you've long forgotten what it's like to be happy, to be comfortable in your skin.

"No more hidin'. We are Hardie boys, we don't hide. We fight, Glen. So you gotta fight."

You lean towards his touch and sink into his vast sea of words, following his voice like light.

And then suddenly you were consumed by it, by the taste of beer and honey on his red plump lips, and the smoke on your tongue, breathing poison into his lungs. You firmly grasp the sides of his face and pull him closer.

You taste heaven on his lips, you are certain of it.

He pulls away but the two of you remain tangled in one another. He grins, and you can't help but smile.

"What was that for?" You ask.

"To show you that it ain't so bad. You'll be swappin' spit with other guys all you want."

You like the idea of that, even if he only meant it as a joke.

"Now you do these kids a favor," he closes your hand around the button tightly, and keeps his fingers on yours. "You show 'em that they died for somethin' that matters. You show 'em the Hardie boys ain't gonna let 'em down. You show 'em that you got fight in you too. You do it for 'em... and for you."

Fuck it all.  
He makes it sound so easy...  
Fuck it all to hell...

You nod.

He looks proud. Even in the dim light, you see the way his eyes sparkle with love and admiration. He pulls you into a hug and you wrap your arms desperately around him and fall victim to his warmth once more. You think... He doesn't know it but you're at your best with him. You feel your heart beating in your chest and you hear him breathing against your ear. You're glad to be alive.

Maybe you can fight this battle after all... You have him. You have your friends.

There's a fire that burns in you, a strength not from your body. For once, you can see yourself being happy in your skin.

And if you were to fight and fall then fuck it. You'll go down with something the world will remember. 

You chuckle, and wonder if the young kids thought that too

They were damn right to fight. **Now it's your turn.**


End file.
